


But no reply came

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Homophobia in the 80's, Initially begins with stalker!Bill, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, references to terrible parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unconventional love story between Bill Cipher and Stanley Pines.</p>
<p>"He was Stanley’s guardian angel. Or demon, rather. As long as he was around, nothing would ever happen to the boy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But no reply came

Dense torrents of rain were pounding down on Bill’s head and shoulders. It soaked through his alabaster coat, chilling the dark skin beneath. His extremities were numb and his joints rigid, but all this suited him just fine so long as he was able to observe his quarry.

Stanley Pines, homeless and desolate, couldn’t see him through the thick rainfall. His car having been impounded, he was taking shelter inside of a small rectangular bus stop, hunched in on himself as a means of conserving warmth. Even from where he stood, he could see that Stanley was shivering. The sight was a pitiful one. Bill wasn’t a creature that much cared for the well being of others, but he didn’t particularly enjoy seeing Stanley in this state. He didn’t like the possibility that Stanley could potentially succumb to the elements. 

Bill lingered on the opposite side of the street and watched Stanley until the man finally, finally surrendered to exhaustion, slowly descending to the bus stop seat and into a fitful slumber. It was the first Bill had seen him sleep since losing his car.

Only once all of Stanley’s movements had ceased did Bill cross the street to lower himself onto the seat beside him. He was so close that Stanley’s hair brushed up against his thigh, soft and fluffy despite being damp. His fingers twitched, urging him to touch. To stroke. He had little self-control to speak of, but he managed to refrain from waking the boy.

And a boy was all he was, really. Barely twenty four; much too young to be living on the streets. Too vulnerable. He didn’t even stir as Bill adjusted his position, crossing his legs at the knee, and that was the sort of thing that would get someone killed. He was lucky he had Bill around to ensure that never happened. The only reason he was alive right now, after the ‘trunk’ incident, was because of Bill’s intervention. He had been the one who unlocked the trunk to enable an escape. At the time, all he had wanted to do was keep Stanley alive long enough to fulfill the prophecy. He was a key player in Bill’s plan to take control of this universe and he frequently got himself into so much trouble that Bill’d had no choice but to start following him. Just for a while. Long enough to make sure he was in a situation where he would be safe and able to provide for himself.

But a few days of observation and intervention had been extended into a few weeks, and then into months. And now he was on Stanley’s heels at an almost daily basis. He was Stanley’s guardian angel. Or demon, rather. As long as he was around, nothing would ever happen to the boy.

He sat there for a very long time, listening to the rain fall and Stanley’s soft, barely perceptible breathing. There were vehicles tottering around in the distance, but he was able to block them out. His body radiated an unnatural warmth that brought a stop to Stanley’s shivering and had him subconsciously snuggling into Bill’s thigh. His hair was wet and left a patch of moisture across his leg. Bill didn’t mind. He ghosted his fingers over Stanley’s jawline.

One day, in the distant future, he would whisk Stanley away and until the end of time Stanley would be his. He was willing to wait decades if necessary.

“All mine,” he murmured to the sleeping man, who only offered up an involuntary sigh in response.

When Stanley awoke, he would be greeted by the sight of a renowned businessman peering around at their surroundings, soaking wet and very confused. Bill was long gone. The man took one look at Stanley and shuffled away, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“G’mornin’ to you too, jackass,” Stanley growled, pushing himself upright so he could stand. The rain had stopped. He smoothed down his dirty red jacket and started a dawdle down the road.

* * *

 

After a while, Stanley started to notice a figure in his peripheral vision. A tall, dark figure who was never there when he turned to get a better look. It was disconcerting. This wasn’t the first time he had been followed, but it was the first time his stalker/s hadn’t made themselves known once he had started exhibiting paranoid behaviors. The last time he had been the subject of stalking he’d been tossed into a trunk with the intention of driving him out to the Chihuahuan desert.

A few times he turned and yelled for the figure to reveal themselves. His voice was loud enough to echo through the streets. He never got a response, and the figure didn’t appear in his peripheral vision again for several hours. These events were starting to make Stan think he was going insane. Maybe his paranoia was finally catching up to him.

He began to sleep and eat less, and he had already been doing both of those things in moderation. Bags developed under his eyes. His complexion became pallid and sickly. He was terrified of being captured by Rico’s gang again. When he went to bed at night, he kept a bat beside him, ready to be grabbed and swung if his stalker ever revealed itself.

A knock at his dingy hotel door was enough to make him jump. On only three hours of sleep, he still managed to leap straight out of bed and throw his back up against the door. The only thing keeping it shut was the chain. The lock had long since broken.

The knocking persisted.

“Wadda you want?” he asked in a wavering voice.

“I have a delivery here for Simon!”

Simon? Who the hell was Simon?

“Uh, what is it?”

“Groceries and mail!” The voice on the other end of the door hesitated. “Would you rather come by the post office instead? We can put your things to the side for you.”

Stanley scrambled to pull the chain off the door. He wasn’t about to pass on the opportunity for free groceries. And if someone was rich enough to have their groceries delivered to them, who knew what he would find in that mail. “No, no, that’s okay!” He yanked open the door with a broad grin. “Hand it over-!” His grin dropped into a frown

There were no groceries and no mail. The business man from all those weeks ago was smiling down at him. He attempted to slam the door shut, but the dapper man wedged a dress shoe inside.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble,” he began, and was promptly shushed by the man reaching inside to slide a thumb over his lips. He was too bewildered to react.

“Shh, I’m here to help you.” The man spoke softly at first, but the volume of his voice grew as he squeezed himself through the gap of the door and into Stanley’s personal space. “You need me, Stanley! I know you do.”

Stanley’s nerves tingled in that strange way nerves always did when you were anxious. “Oh Christ, don’t tell me you’re the freak that’s been following me?” It would make sense. The stalking _had_ begun shortly after his initial encounter with the man.

When he tried to back away, the intruder closed the door with a heel and swung Stanley around so he was braced against it. His long limbs boxed Stanley in. Their thighs were pressed together, one angled as though about to slide in-between his knees. His pulse accelerated and he was dizzied by the sudden rush of blood after having been languid for so long.

The man lowered one of his hands to cup Stanley’s face. “If I haven’t yet hurt you, don’t you think you ought to give me the benefit of the doubt?”

“ _Yet_.” Stanley stressed the world, eyes darting nervously between the man and the bathroom. It was a potential escape, though he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to fit through the small window above the toilet even after losing so much weight. “You plannin’ to hurt me then?” He peered up at his intruder. His voice wavered. “Because that’s the impression I’m gettin’!”

“Oh, I could have done that over and over and over,” he said, and Stanley’s throat bobbed around a nervous swallow. His mouth was going dry. “But I chose not to,” he continued. “I’m not particularly interested in harming you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“What I want…” There was a lengthy pause. The intruder swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, and it seemed almost serpentine in appearance. “Is for you to come with me.”

Stanley rigid muscles tightened even further upon hearing this. “Are you insane?” he asked, and the man’s smile stretched impossibly wide. “I-I ain’t going anywhere with some stalker creep that broke into my hotel room!”

“No?”

His hand dropped away from his face and descended to a coat pocket, fishing inside briefly before withdrawing with a fine leather wallet. He popped the button and turned the slit to Stanley so he could see the clean green one hundred dollar bills inside.

“I can make you comfortable.” He slid the wallet back into his pocket. “I can look after you.”

His hunger for wealth and his self-preservation instinct were immediately at war with each other. He stared down at the intruder’s pants, at the pocket he knew to contain the wallet. It contained more money than he’d seen in years, and it was likely to be more money he’d ever see if he turned down the offer. He didn’t think he’d live to thirty if he continued as he was, with barely enough money for basic necessities like food, water, and shelter. He’d been resorting to stealing and false promises as of late.

Stanley brow winkled as he resumed looking up at the man. “But why would you wanna do that? I’m just some bum you met at a bus stop.”

“I like you!” the man said. His voice was so genuine and enthusiastic that Stanley felt just a little more at ease. “You’re my type of guy, Stanley: sneaky and slippery and-“ his dark eyes raked over Stanley’s soft, round form. “You have a certain vulnerability I like!”

“You have to know how weird that sounds.” Stanley shifted from foot to foot, rocking into his captors arm with each swaying movement. “Look man, I just – I dunno about this…” He could agree to accompany this man, steal all his stuff, and then leave. But what if he intended to keep Stanley there through force? With locks and chains and barred windows? People being abducted and kept for long periods of time wasn’t unheard of, and if Stanley disappeared, no one would care. No one would look for him.

“Give me three days,” the man insisted, retreating just enough to allow Stan some space to move. He quickly took advantage and parted their thighs. His were a great deal warmer than they had been prior to this man’s arrival. He rubbed them with his palms. “Three days is all I ask!” he continued. “After that, you can decide whether or not you want to stay.”  

Stanley hesitated. It was winter. It would be nice to sleep somewhere with a heater for once. He was often awoken by the chilly night air seeping in from the beneath the door. “…You gimme three hundred dollars up front and I’ll go there. But if I don’t like it, I’m leaving.”

“Sounds fair.” The man didn’t even put up a fight. He retrieved his wallet and began to thumb through the bills. “But if you decide to leave, you’d better make it worth my while before you do.”

“What do you mean?” Stan asked as he extended a hand for the cash. The other man’s nimble fingers briefly wrapped around it before the cash was slipped into his palm.

“I want a blowjob.”

Stanley’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“I want a-“

“I heard what you said! But, I mean… why me? Why not a pretty chick or something?” It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to get him to give them a blowjob in exchange for cash, but this guy was so rich and fancy and attractive. He wasn’t some ugly fucker who smelt of weed and had a dick that probably tasted of accumulative body fluids and salt. If he wanted a blowjob, there were plenty of people who would throw themselves at his crotch without monetary persuasion.

“I don’t want a ‘pretty chick’.” The man slid his wallet back into his coat and curled his hand around Stanley’s, bringing it to his lips. “I want you.”

Holy shit, was this guy really kissing his knuckles? That wasn’t the sort of thing you did to other dudes. Granted, the guy was trying to proposition him for sex after he had broken into Stanley’s apartment, so a kiss on the knuckles was far from the strangest thing about this encounter.

If his dad had been around to see this Stanley would be dead where he stood. Threatened with a shotgun, probably. His father had never been tolerant of any lifestyle that didn’t align with his own. Personally Stan didn’t give a shit if someone was gay or lesbian or bisexual or transgender as long as they had money to spend on Stanley’s products. Assuming Stanley would ever be able to put out another product after the catastrophic ‘rip-off’ band aids.

“Is it, uh… is it just gonna be a blowjob, or…?” He’d never had anal sex before. He’d never even conceived of the though. As far as sexuality went, Stanley had been on the straight and narrow since primary school. Sure, he’d seen a few attractive boys in his time and his cellmates in prison had taught him a thing or two about sexuality, but he’d never fantasized about doing that with another man. Besides, it seemed unsanitary, and wasn’t there a virus going around killing people who had that kind of intercourse?

The coverage by media was mediocre at best, but the gay community was vocal enough to ensure people not involved in their movement were aware of what was happening.

“You don’t have to worry!” He smoothed down the lapels of his coat. “This body belongs to a germ phobic!”

‘This body.’ That was a weird way to speak. “You don’t got anything weird in you medical history, do you? Because if you get me sick…” he didn’t know how to proceed with his threat. There was little he could to this this guy that wouldn’t result in even more ruination of his own life.

“I’m not going to do that,” he told Stan. “It would be inconvenient if you were to get sick! I’d have to restore you to health, and I’m no doctor!”

“Not exactly feeling reassured over here, but…” This was such a bad idea. “For another hundred – no, two hundred, I’ll do the, uh.” He made an obscene hand gesture, shoving his tongue into the side of a cheek. It was a gesture he’d done once or twice in high school in an effort to appear cool.

(It hadn’t worked.)

“But you hafta wear a rubber.”

“You have yourself a deal, Stanley Pines!”

The guy knew his name. He should have expected that, but Stanley still grimaced. The additional two hundred dollars soon wiped his face of that expression, however. This would feed and shelter him for months! And he’d get even more by the time he was done satisfying whatever sexual urges this guy had.

He folded his wad of five hundred dollars and slid it into his thigh pocket, keeping a thumb tucked inside to make sure it wouldn’t slip out.

“The names William, by the way,” the man said on their way out.

* * *

 

It was the nicest house Stanley had ever seen. Every room was a beautiful cream that worked well with its stained floorboards or rich red carpet, and Stanley was no art connoisseur, but the walls were adorned with the sort of paintings you would see in in one of those fancy, upper class aesthetic magazines. Scattered among them were trinkets that Stanley would touch as he was lead through each room; statues and foreign musical instruments and decorative candle holders and charming furniture. In his dirty red jacket and worn slacks, Stanley looked and felt out of place. This guy probably even had servants.

For whatever reason, it took William several doubtful glances into each room before he located the bedroom. Seemed weird for a guy not to know where his own bedroom was, but maybe he was just nervous. Stalling. It was a nice thought; Stanley didn’t like the idea that he was the only one whose heart was thrumming at a hummingbirds pace.

William sat on the edge of his bed. After toeing off his shoes and removing his jacket to buy himself a few minutes, Stanley joined him. The quilt was the kind full of goose feathers, pleasantly soft and light. The cover was silk. He ran his fingers over it without meeting Will’s gaze.

A hand slid up his thigh and delved briefly beneath the waistline of his trousers, before rising to Stanley’s head. Long fingers carded through his thick brown hair. The sensation was such a nice one that it elicited the sort of soft, strangled sounds one might associate with someone trying to keep quiet while masturbating. William’s fingers then brushed over his brow and cheek.

“We gonna do this or what?” Stanley asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It was getting harder and harder to maintain his composure. In just a few short minutes he would have a man’s cock in his mouth. Not only was it taboo, but he was doing it for money. He was selling his body. He didn’t have a lot of pride or dignity to preserve after having lived on the streets and panhandled to make ends meet, but he was still about to commit an act that would impact the way he viewed himself and the way other people would view him if they ever found out.

_They won’t find out_ , he reassured himself. _I’m not important enough for that._

William’s hands found his shoulders and he rolled both of them into the covers. He didn’t clamber on top of Stanley as he had anticipated, but instead reached down to palm at his crotch.

“I’ll help you relax first,” he said, much to Stanley’s surprise.

But he couldn’t find it within himself to complain when Will began to give him a very rough, but satisfying hand job. 

* * *

 

They had eggs for breakfast. Stanley had to cook them because Will didn’t seem able to handle a skillet. Typical rich boy. He threw in some leeks, rock salt, and zucchini to cover the taste of egg, which he usually didn’t like without some sort of accompaniment. William held his fork like a savage and chewed between wide gasping breaths. Stanley gave him the most blatant ‘what the fuck’ look possible, but didn’t comment. He sat across from him and began to eat. It felt so good to have real food in him after subsisting on bread and butter for so long.

He didn’t notice Will was staring at him until he had risen to grab himself a glass of milk (something of a luxury for Stan). He stared back for moment, and then asked, “What? Y’didn’t like it?”

“No, no. And by that, I mean yes! Yes, I did like it.” William leaned his chin on his hands. “I’m just dying to hear your thoughts about last night!”

“Oh.” He scratched at the nape of his neck. His nails left little pink welts in the skin. Last night hadn’t been bad. Far from bad, in fact. He’d never had more than one orgasm during sex until Will had come along.

“So, are you going to stay?”

Stanley stepped in the direction of the fridge. “I dunno. Haven’t really thought about that yet.”

“You’re thinking about it now.”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna take more than the two seconds you’ve given me to figure out what I wanna do.” Now at the fridge, he grabbed his milk. Will only had the slim kind. It would have to do. “I mean, what you’re basically asking is if I wanna, um…” He took a sip of his drink to forestall his response. “…You know…”

“Date?”

Stanley turned away from Will. “I just met you. It’s so weird.”

“Isn’t this how most human dates happen?”

“No…?” He didn’t actually know the answer to that. Blind dating _was_ a thing.

“Well, it sure seems like it! Not every one of you has standards!” was William’s reply.

Stanley swallowed another mouthful of milk. Even the slim kind was wonderfully creamy. “Isn’t it weird, though? To just pick a guy off the street and decide you want to date him?”

“Well, it’s one way to meet people.” Will offered him a toothy grin. “Gonna have to give it up eventually, I suppose; there’s only so much money in the bank and the phone in the living room was going mad before I unplugged it!” He waved a hand. “But we’ll have a few months.”

“You said I only had to stay three days,” Stan reminded him.

“You’ll want an extension by the time those are up! Trust me, Stanley; I’ll grow on you.”

“Don’t count on it,” Stanley muttered, and Will must have heard it because his grin descended into a meager smile.

“Does this mean you’re going to stay for the full three days?”

This was an opportunity. One that would cost him the remnants of his pride, but for a warm bed and a full belly and ecstasy when night fell, that seemed like a fair exchange. He returned to the table and sat down.

“Alright,” he said, shoulders sagging. “Alllright, I’ll stay. But at the first sign of trouble, I’m outta here. You got that?”

“Got it!” Will exclaimed as he leap from his chair. He had bundled Stanley up into an awkward tangle of limbs before he could protest.

“This counts as trouble!” he snapped, but Will just squeezed him so tight that he feared that he would asphyxiate.

* * *

 

Will was a strange man to live with. Business men were known to be eccentric in private, but there were times that Will barely even seemed human. Once or twice Stanley could have sworn the sclera of his eyes were yellow instead of white. A trick of the lights, he eventually concluded. The only reason someone would have yellow eyes was if they were experiencing liver failure and Will was much too young and much too healthy for that.

Aside from the occasional strange request in bed, ‘what happens if I pour wine up there? Will you absorb the alcohol?’, life was good. He didn’t want for anything. He had food, water, shelter, and entertainment, and all he had to do for these things was cook their meals and warm Will’s bed at night. He would have liked to say he wasn’t enjoying doing either of those things, but it would be a lie. Being a mommy’s boy, he was a decent cook. Not as good as she had been, perhaps, but good enough to whip up something edible for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Meanwhile, Ford could barely even put together a sandwich. He never had been very good at looking after himself.

By the third day he had become so comfortable that he didn’t remember their arrangement until the sixth day rolled by. And even then, he decided not to bring it up. He didn’t want to concede defeat. Will had won him over, the slippery bastard, and he intended to stay for as long as Will was able to support him.

William’s associates would often come by in an attempt to persuade him back to work. The company he ran required a bi-weekly meeting, of which his presence was obligatory. They pleaded with him to resume running the company, told him that they were falling behind, losing profit, but his response was always to tell them to work it out themselves. “That’s what I’m paying for, right?” he would say.

Stanley never offered any input. It was none of his business.

During their second week, William took him out for dinner for the very first time. They strode right into one of the most renowned restaurants in the city without a reservation and still managed to secure a table. William spent some time staring at the pamphlet he’d brought along, as though it were a menu, before noticing the little black booklets sitting on their table. The night ended earlier than anticipated due to William setting a napkin on fire with the complimentary lavender-scented candle in the middle of their table and subsequently ruining the tablecloth. They laughed all the way home.

That was what Stan had started to refer to Wiliam’s house as. Home. The first home he’d had since being evicted from his parents’ house at seventeen. He had a home for the first time in seven years.

He was surprised to find himself experiencing butterflies whenever Will kissed him. He was always rough – he didn’t seem to have enough self-control not to be – but Stanley enjoyed the way his lips throbbed after Will had attacked them with his own, pressing them hard together and licking at the plump flesh. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying their intimacy, but he was. He had even begun to seek it when Will wasn’t in the mood to initiate.

Best of all, Will was a generous man. While nonsensical at times, Will’s gifts were numerous and expensive. Stan was especially fond of the gold medallion necklace he’d been gifted. It had yet to leave his sternum. He would palm at it throughout the day, get a good feel of it, and then resume whatever task he was doing, because it was the nicest gift he had ever been given and he wanted to make sure it was still there. Valuable things of his had the tendency to go missing (or abandon him).  

This was the sort of life he’d hoped he would be able to make for himself after being ostracized by his family. He’d finally made it.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in years,” he told Will, who smiled and squeezed Stanley’s hands. They were both sweaty and warm and basking in the afterglow of sex.

“You getting sentimental on me, Stanley?”

“Shit.” Stanley closed his eyes and let his head lull to the side. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Guess I am.”

“You love me, don’t you.” Will’s voice was playful. Regardless, Stanley bristled.

“You- you loved me first,” he accused. “You started it.”

“Are you really turning this into a fight?” Will rolled into Stanley’s back, spooning him. His arms wrapped tight around Stanley’s torso. “See, things like that are exactly why I like you!”

“ _Love me_.”

“If that’s what you think this is, who am I to argue!” Will ran his palms up Stanley’s belly. “You would know, because I sure don’t.”

Stanley snorted. “How did I managed to get the one guy worse at relationships than me?”

“Just your luck,” Will murmured in reply, placing a kiss on the nape of his neck. Stanley shivered.

“Stop that. Y’know I’m sensitive there.”

“Yes I do,” Will said as he continued to place chaste kisses on the soft, salty skin.

* * *

 

Stanley wrapped his arms around Will’s waist, breathing a growl between his shoulder blades. He was currently standing at the kitchen sink with a sopping wet dishcloth in hand and bubbles clinging to the length of his forearms. He was shirtless. It was the strangest way Stanley had ever seen someone do dishes, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Hey asshole, guess what you are.”

Will looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”

“I said guess.”

His lips stretched into a wide smile. “An asshole.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Stanley bumped his nose into one of the ridges of Will’s spine. “Never thought I’d say something like this, but you need to stop ignoring all those people who come to your door. Go to your meetings or whatever.” He gave Will’s midsection a squeeze. “You don’t need to be around me twenty four seven. I’ll manage on my own.”

“I don’t feel like it,” he replied.

“So what? I don’t feel like putting on pants half the time, but I still do it. ‘Cus otherwise I’d have indecent exposure on my record and I can’t afford to be banned from another state.”

“My employees can deal with it! That’s what they’re there for.” Will shoved his hands into the mass of bubbles and resumed cleaning. He’d been cleaning the same dish for the last ten minutes.

“If that’s what they were there for they wouldn’t be comin’ over here all the time,” Stanley protested. “You’re gonna get your company shut down at this rate, man. You’ve gotta stop slacking.”

There was a lengthy silence while Will continued to scrub away at his already very clean dish. “Forget about it, Stanley,” he said at last, setting the clean dish aside and turning in Stanley’s arms. He was lithe enough that he could do so without breaking Stanley’s grip. “It’ll work itself out!”

“It hasn’t so far.” Stanley set his chin on Will’s chest and tried to frown up at him. The way his bottom lip jutted out made it seem more like a pout. “It’d better work itself out because we got a good thing going here.”

“And to think, you initially didn’t even want to stay three days!” Will pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He could barely feel it beneath his thick brown curls.

“’Course I didn’t. You were stalking me.”

“With good intentions!”

Stanley gave him an exasperated look. “Doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

“You would know creepy. You’ve broken into people’s house to steal their belongings.” Will wiped some of his bubbles off on Stanley’s shoulder, who scowled and kicked at one of his shins.

“Hey, I had good reason for doing that!”

“I don’t disagree! But it still means you’re in no position to be criticizing me.”

Stanley huffed. “It was still creepy. You shoulda just propositioned me at the bus stop. I probably wouldn’tve said no.”

“It wasn’t an ideal time for me.” Will slowly ran his palms up and down Stanley’s back, nose buried in his thick brown hair. Stanley had used mango scented shampoo today. He knew Will liked it when he did that.

“Why? What were you even doing at a bus stop? You have a personal chauffeur!”

“I can’t even remember,” Will replied with a chuckle.

“Bet you were having a mid-life crisis or something.”

“Mmm, no. It wasn’t that.”

“You said you didn’t remember.”

“Well, I remember enough to know it wasn’t that.”

Stanley unfurled his arms from around Will and retreated a step, grabbing a dry dishcloth to toss to Will. He caught it and began drying his forearms. “You sure? Because you seemed pretty lost.”

“Drop it, Stanley.” Will didn’t sound angry, but his voice was firm. “Even if I did remember it wouldn’t be anything worth being told.”

“Fine, fiiine.” Stanley threw his hands up in surrender. “But you’re gonna have to tell me one of these days, if you ever do remember.”

Will discarded the cloth once his arms were dry. On his way past Stan, he pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I won’t. It’s not important enough to remember.” He crossed the kitchen and Stanley followed suit, trailing behind him as he ascended the stairs that lead to their shared bedroom. “Why don’t you lie down and relax? I’ll give you a massage. I’ve talented fingers, you know.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” Stanley said, prodding an accusing finger into his back.

Will grinned at Stanley over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that! I’m just changing the subject because the other one was boring.”

“Offering a massage isn’t changing the subject.”

“Yes it is. Now we can talk about your nice, broad shoulders.”

Stanley’s face coloured. “You like my shoulders, huh?”

“I love your shoulders.”

“…Okay, you won me over. I’ll take that massage.”

* * *

 

Three months into their relationship, Will took Stanley overseas. Cairo, Egypt, to be specific. While it wouldn’t have been Stanley’s first choice of destination, the food and the people and the whacky architecture was quick to grow on him. Being as renowned as he was, Will was even able to obtain VIP tours of certain crypts and pyramids. This cost several thousands of dollars, but since Will was footing the bill, Stanley wasn’t going to complain. He had long since accepted that Will’s wealth was Will’s business and there was nothing Stanley could do to persuade him to be more frugal. He would just have to enjoy the leisure for as long as Will was able to provide it.

That said, Stanley had no intention of leaving when Will inevitably filed for bankruptcy. He had decided to become a permanent fixture in Will’s life. Maybe their excessive spending would lead them to being homeless, but at least he wouldn’t be alone this time. He didn’t care what his family thought of him anymore. They had abandoned him – thrown him to the curb like a dog that had made a mess on the carpet. He’d finally found someone who respected and loved him unconditionally. He wouldn’t go crawling back to Ford or Dad or Ma; never again. As far as he was concerned, they were estranged.

As they lay sprawled out on two pool chairs they’d pushed together, soaking in the summer sun, Stanley reached down between them and curled a hand around Will’s hand, smiling at him through his sweaty brown hair. He’d cut it in preparation for the holiday, but the fringe was still obnoxiously long. Will squeezed his fingers.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

Stan let his forehead drop to Will’s shoulder. His fringe glued itself to his dark skin. He’d taken a dip in the pool, whereas Stan preferred to sunbathe.

“I dunno. I just- I like this. All of this. Having a roof to live under, Car-io.“

“Kie-rho.”

“Whatever. Point is, I didn’t think I’d ever stop feeling like shit after my parents kicked me out.”

“Why’d they do that?” Will asked, gently detaching Stanley’s hair from his shoulder and tucking it behind his ears. “Kick you out, that is. Seems like you’d have had to do something pretty serious for that to happen!”

Stan was quiet for a moment, his eyes slowly descending. It wasn’t a tale he liked to recount. “I broke my bros project and ‘cost my family potential millions’.” His throat tightened. “That’s how my dad put it, anyway. I guess it was a pretty bad fuckup, but what seventeen year old doesn’t fuck up.”

“That doesn’t sound very nurturing! Aren’t parents supposed to be nurturing?”

“He wasn’t that type of guy,” Stanley replied. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “He always liked Ford more, anyway. Used to refuse to let me sit in his lap when Ford would get to climb up there all the time.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I dunno. Maybe because I wasn’t planned? Because I was just an extra mouth to feed?” Stanley smiled sardonically. “Me being thrown out was probably the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“It sure was the best thing that happened to me,” Will said, and it made Stanley laugh.

“Damn straight, I’m the best you’ll ever get.” He curled into Will. Public displays of affection were rare from him, especially when they were in America, whose citizens and government had made its stance on homosexuality very clear over the last few years, but Will was affluent enough that Stan didn’t have to worry about being dragged into a back alley and beaten for his ‘sinful behaviour’. He closed his eyes. The heat was making him drowsy.

“If I was a bad person, would you leave?” Will asked. It was such a sudden question that Stanley jerked his head up in surprise.

“…Why’re you askin’ that? Did you think you’re ‘bad’ because you like guys or something?”

“Psh, no. That’s a religious thing. I don’t believe in the big guy up in the sky.” He waved a hand to dismiss the possibility. “If I was a bad person morally – more so than you – would you leave? That’s what I’m asking.”

Stanley gave him a quizzical look. “I already know you have shit morals. Kinda obvious with how you propositioned me.”

“They’re shittier than you could ever imagine.” Will sounded sincere. “What if I turned out to be impersonating someone? Would you still stay?”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Look, I really don’t care. No matter what issues you got going on, you’re Will. And if you turn out to be someone else, then I’d start calling you by whatever other name it is you go by.”

“You don’t care…?”

“I don’t. I don’t care. You could unveil yourself to be Santa and I’d still stick with you.” A pause, and then a laugh. “Actually, that’d be even more reason for me to stick with you.”

Will snorted. “I don’t look anything like your ‘Santa’! He’s big and red and has a beard.” He leaned in to press a kiss to Stanley’s mouth, grazing his teeth over Stanley’s bottom lip. Stanley made a breathy sound and clambered his way into Will’s lap. “And I’m incredibly handsome,” he added while reaching behind Stanley to coax him closer, so they were chest to chest. Will didn’t seem to be bothered by Stanley’s significant weight. In fact, by the way he squeezed at Stanley’s hips and buttocks, he quite enjoyed his soft, boyish curves.

“Why bring that up, anyway?” Stanley asked, wiggling about in Will’s grip. “Are you someone else?”

“Yeah,” Will admitted. He ran his palms up Stanley’s side.

“I’d ask who, but I already said I don’t care.”

They spent several hours at the poolside. Before leaving, Stanley took a dip in the water to cool off after their… activities. Will didn’t join him, sitting at the edge of the pool with his feet hanging into the water, waiting there while Stanley made a half-arsed attempt to swim from one side of the pool to the other. Upon returning to their room, they spent the rest of the evening cuddling on a lavish couch that cupped Stanley’s buttocks just right.

* * *

 

As the saying goes: all good things come to an end. Stanley had thought his relationship with Will would be the exception, but he was wrong. Boy was he wrong.

It was a Wednesday when it happened. The air outside was so frigid that frost had developed on the windshield of Stanley’s car, which had been returned to him just prior to their trip to Egypt. He had put on his warmest clothes, grabbed a towel from the laundry basket, and gone outside to scrape off the ice. Since he was so used to not being able to afford monthly vehicle maintenance he tended to his car every winter morning to ensure it didn’t get frost damage. He hadn’t even noticed Will’s approach. The man had wrapped arms tight around his midsection and breathed a sigh into his neck, and then he had said the last words Stanley wanted to hear.

“You need to leave.”

A sizable pouch of money had been shoved into his hands before Will made a prompt departure. When Stanley attempted to race into his – _their_ – house after Will, he found the front door locked and bolted. No matter how long he had yelled and knocked and pleaded for Will to come back, to tell him what he had done wrong, Will didn’t answer. Not even to give him a proper goodbye.

It was his pride that finally prompted him to give up. _Fine_ , he’d thought to himself, clenching his jaw in an attempt to restrain the urge to whimper. _If Will doesn’t want me, then I don’t want him._

“If Will doesn’t want me, then I don’t want him,” he repeated aloud, and repeated it again and again on his way back to his car in an attempt to convince himself he was leaving Will voluntarily. People like him, so often rejected and alone, took reprieve in lies.

When he recalled the events that followed the second eviction of his life by someone he loved, he would omit the hours he had spent weeping into his steering wheel.

It was hard to resume a normal working life after living in the lap of luxury for so long, the primary issue being that he couldn’t find work. No one wanted to hire him. He had no education, no experience, and a criminal record. With how often employers were fact-checking resumes these days, even his embellishments weren’t enough to get him employed somewhere as humble as a coffee shop. Just as he had been before Will had made an appearance in his life, he was broke, hungry, thirsty, cold, and there was no one he could turn to for help. He was back at rock bottom. At least he knew now there wasn’t any lower he could go.

It didn’t take long for him to resort to petty crime in order to fill his belly. A stolen wallet here and there, some drugs peddled on street corners, some faulty equipment sold at inflated prices. Nothing that would earn him a life imprisonment; there was no payout worth that risk. There was only so far he was willing to go for money. Rico had already taught him through the use of rope, tire irons, and the trunk of a car that serious crime – while satisfying – wasn’t always worth it.

It wasn’t until he was called upon by his brother that he realized it was possible to descend below rock bottom. By the time he awoke from an uneasy slumber in Ford’s shack, several days after his fight with Ford, he realized that beneath rock bottom was a vast sea of dirt, and it was suffocating him.

* * *

 

Stanley thought he was going to die. His throat felt tight and his chest ached and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He felt as helpless and desperate as he had the day his father had thrown him into the gutter, unable to do anything while his world collapsed around him.

He couldn’t breathe.

There was a loaf of bread clutched tight in his hands. He wanted to go up to the counter and purchase it with the funds he had acquired from the opening of the Mystery Shack, but he didn’t seem able to compel his body to draw in a breath. His vision was starting to swim and there was a distant buzzing in his ears.

“Excuse me.” A feminine voice, muffled by the sound vibrating through his ears, spoke from behind him. A small hand nudged his elbow. “Excuse me, are you alright?”

He licked his dry lips and turned to face her. It was the lady whose eye he had damaged, her face wrinkled in concern. The hand on his elbow reluctantly withdrew.

“You look like you’re about to faint!”

Air flooded back into his lungs. He took one long, gasping breath before attempting to smile at his savior. He knew it looked forced. “I’m – I’m okay. Thanks.”

“You sure? You’re holding that bread awful hard, honey.”

Stanley looked down at the bread in his hands and grimaced at how thoroughly he had ruined it. He’d practically ripped it in two. “Guess I’m gonna have to grab another loaf.”

“You do that.” The lady – Stan couldn’t recall her name – set her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “And take better care of yourself! Somethings gotta be wrong if you’re zoning out in the middle of a convenience store.”

Stanley choked on a laugh. It was one of those laughs devoid of mirth, propelled only by the awkwardness of a situation. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but notice how strained it was. “See you around town, honey.”

Felling self-conscious, he set the bread back on the shelf and grabbed a fresh loaf, bringing it up to the counter.

* * *

 

Life got easier after the first month. He had enough money for a steady stream of food and water and he no longer had to anxiously anticipate winter. Throughout the day he was Mr. Mystery, a charismatic tour guide who was generously tipped at the end of each session, and throughout the night he worked on the portal. He often fell asleep in the basement with one of Ford’s nerd books spread out on a desk, his drool accumulating on its indecipherable pages. The only book of Ford’s he seemed able to understand (though he struggled to comprehend the mythical aspect of its contents) was the journal he’d thrown to Stanley. There was the occasional word he had to pull open a thesaurus for, but Ford wrote in layman terms for the most part. Perhaps he had intended the journal to be published one day.

He didn’t feel like he was going to die every time he went out in public now, so that was a bonus.

Years passed. He was ashamed to admit it, but his bouts of depression were few and far between by the first decade. By the second they were a bi-yearly occurrence at most. Like dealing with the death of a loved one, he was gradually learning to cope. There would always be a sting to the memory of Ford, just like there was with Will and his parents and Carla, but the wound had scabbed over enough to be tolerable. When he told himself everything would be alright it didn’t feel like a lie anymore.

He ceased needing to tell himself that altogether when Dipper and Mabel entered his life. He could remember holding them as infants and feeling an overwhelming urge to cry. So small and fragile, and he had known at that time he wasn’t going to be able to be present for their upbringing, no matter how much he wanted to be. There was only so long he was able to keep up his façade as Ford in front of family and the Mystery Shack needed to remain open if he was going to continue paying off Ford’s mortgage. 

He feel in love with them all over again, and they reciprocated. Their love made it all the more painful when they finally unveiled his lies. He was made to watch as their trust, so tenuous and wavering, almost snapped before his eyes. 

When the light receded and his brother emerged from the portal, they found themselves closer than ever. He no longer recognized Ford as his brother, but he had Dipper and Mabel. And that was okay. He had learned by now that the best way to deal with rejection was to just accept it. He couldn’t force Ford to be his brother any more than he could have forced his father to take him back.

Before being thrown out at the end of summer, he had days of Ford’s presence to endure. The shadow he cast was smothering. It made it even harder to drag himself out of bed in the morning than usual. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his brother anymore, because he did; it was just hard to live with the fact that he would always be a dumber, sweater version of Ford no matter what he did. He didn’t even have his own name anymore.

Of course, there were more important things to worry about than his inferiority complex when ‘Weirdmageddon’ happened. As the name implied, it was weird. It was also terrifying. His heart was beating so fast when he offered himself to Cipher that he feared he would experience a heart attack before Bill could be erased.

The demon entered his mind. It was fast, painless experience. Disorienting for all of a minute before a startling clarity overcame him. Bill entered the sole room that occupied his mind and he stood, his paddle dissipating. At his full height he towered over Bill. The all powerful demon looked pathetic, cowering at his feet as his predicament registered.

“Hey, look at me. Turn around and look at me, you one-eyed demon!” Pitiful in defeat, the demon turned to face Stanley. “You're a real wise-guy, but you made one fatal mistake: you messed with my family.”

“You’re making a mistake!” His one eye was so wide with terror that Stanley could see little red tendrils bulging against the white. “I gave you everything you ever wanted once and I can do it again!”

Stan arched an eyebrow. If Bill was trying to trick him this seemed like a very poor way to go about it. “What’re you talkin’ about? You’ve never given me anything!”

“Stanley, it’s me! It’s _Will_.”

Stanley looked perplexed. What was Bill playing at? “I already know you’re Bill.”

“Will! _Will_!” Bill corrected him and his form began to morph. First into a thin, black, indistinguishable being, and then into a tall young man with narrow features and the darkest eyes Stanley had ever seen. It took him a moment to register what he was looking at, and when it did, he stuttered back in shock.

“Will? Jesus Christ, that’s low even for you, Bi…” Will. _Bill_. 

The sight of him was dizzying. He stumbled into the flames and Bill – Will? followed suit. 

“You’re kidding, right? You have to be kidding me!”

“The name isn’t a coincidence, Stanley!” He reached into the flames to cup Stanley’s face in his long fingers, his lips meeting Stanley’s in a hot kiss. The shape of his mouth was comfortable and familiar. “It’s me. It’s me,” he whispered. “Don’t let me die.”

Stanley couldn’t will a response. He was speechless. He stood there in silence as Bill peppered kisses on his lips and ran his hands up into his hair, just like he had all those years ago, and there was an involuntary surge of want. He still loved Will. He always had and he always would.

Before the flames engulfed them both, he kissed back.

* * *

 

He awoke one night, weeks after the events of weirdmaggedon, with an urge to go outside. It was the early hours of the morning. A little after two and the house was so cold that he had to tug his slippers on before he could touch the ground. The floorboards creaked their familiar tune as he made his way through to the front door. He pulled on a coat before he stepped outside, zipping it up straight to his chin on his way into the forest. The air was so cool that moisture accumulated on his face, giving his lips and nose a shiny appearance. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

Stanley sat down in front of the statue left by Bill. The ground was damp. That didn’t bother him. He lifted a hand and grazed his fingers over the chilly stone, feeling dirt and moss cling to his skin. There hadn’t been enough time to visit before going on his trip across the world. He hoped Bill had been waiting for him.

The statue stared at him somberly as he slid a thumb over its pupil. 

“Hey asshole, guess what you are.”

...

“I said guess.”

...

“Bill? C’mon, answer me. I know you’re not dead.”

But no reply came.


End file.
